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Below are the 25 most recent journal entries.

	2002.08.22  14.48 what to say, dreams with Antonin Araud and L, who took me in her arms last night...and the past two weeks and the wandering and writing, the town atop the hill that looks over the Adriatic, and CNN, and groping for someone..school coming up, enrolled in Foundations of Performance class. Terrible, dreadful lonelieness, and not quite all that, wanting a passion fulfilled, all those days of European pizza and growing groups of locals in the town square singing folk songs to a single accordion player, and the ubiqituous Catholic crosses along the roads and houses in ruin and throwing sticks at apple trees (my grandfather did)and two days in Venice..read Virginia Woolf's To The Lighthouse, that was so delicious, more later, some day..

	2002.08.05  01.46 I'll give a better account of two days ago. I went to southern Oregon with my family. We were doing shopping for the trip and my brother was going to mine, yes for gold and gems. For this first we went to one of the few of its kind, a mining store in Oregon, not too far from Portland, not sure exactly where I was most of the time, having gotten two hours of sleep the night before, constant combating between my family, trying to distant myself, we took along our two dogs Buster and Chewey. They went into the store I stayed outside, walked along the sidewalk down from the store in the hot afternoon sun dancing a little and watching the cars go by. Motel across the street. Car dealerships. After this we drove and drove for hours, on 1-5 going south, as the colors changed, sun sank low, darker, listened to Wilco album and thought if only I was out on that endless farming land, or living in those distant rocky hills the color of golden speck and hay and blood. Stopped at rest stops where so many other travelers stopped too. I was very silent the entire trip. Got to Roseburg, Oregon around 7 pm. Its downtown was empty, one young guy shirtless standing on the corner smoking a cigarette, mostly elderly people, closed antique shops there, Hi-Ho restaurant, King's Buffet with the word "Smorgasboard" written underneath the logo on the tall sign above the buffet. Settled on going to Elmer's, basically like a Denny's kind of place with a penchant for nostalgia, good time American cookin'. Waited an hour and a half for food which made my family upset. This didn't matter to me. I watched the dusk appear throught the blinds they had up to keep the brightness out. Before this we had gotten a room at Holiday Inn. I wanted to stay there in the room and sleep whilst they went out. I decided against staying, out of hunger, maybe more of a desire to see the curious town of Roseburg. After Elmer's I went with dad to Denny's and had a coffee and thought to myself several times, "I should have a conversation with him". Some teenage kids came in and out, one by himself at the bar, pouring syrup all over his grand slam. He smiled and talked with the waitress. They knew each other, I am sure. Another guy came in with long long hair and sat at the end of the bar solemnly, without saying anything to anybody and when I left he still hadn't ordered anything. I tried to meet his eyes, watching him as dad payed the bill. So my dad talked about my mother's parents (whom I will be seeing very soon) and how I should behave around them in Croatia and their psychology, and my mom's. I asked about his parents, whom I'm always interested in. My dad doesn't take much at all, you see. This is a rarity to actually talk to him. Usually he says what a shitty day he's had, or that what I'm eating is quite resourceful, or asks for a favor, something household related so he won't have to work so much. He jokes to himself, and has these conversations once in a great many moons. He started talking about his father, how he was like this latin word for a Greek soldier's army formation where a great shell is formed by armymen, nearly invincible. "Your grandfather didn't let anything stop him, he overcame his Polio.." I said he was tenacious. He said that was the exact word to describe him. A week before I had begun research on this man by reading his diaries, which begin around 1915 approxiametly. I may have mentioned this before here. We went back to the hotel and I tried to go to sleep. I never did thought. I started feeling very sick to the stomach. I moaned and ached until 8 am. I threw up and recited words to myself right before it happened from the Wilco album I had been listening to, as I have loved it. "Our love.." then splash goooosh aack! It was less painful then the last time I threw up. There is more..when to write it, I don't know.

	2002.08.04  03.28 long shafts Last two days were spent in a fit of dreaming and graveyards, rivers, railroad tracks, dusty roads, endless fast food restuarants, throwing up, sleeping in parents car, arguing amongst my parents, dreaming about Crow Boy (thats his name), reading grudgingly not really wanting to wanting a different book. A part of a dream this afternoon that was like a moralizing voice saying You must call all those people you said you'd call and you need them. For instance, someone who put their phone number in my yearbook. I am that lonely. I spend time holding his picture, closing my eyes and thinking about the night outside. I haven't been writing much and when I do I feel everything I do is without devotion. I may be too devoted. I am leaving in a few days and it has hardly occured to me. I want to keep a detailed log. I don't know if I can. I can only take a small bag with me, purse size and I thought I'd a notebook, a book to read (that I'm not sure of) my camera maybe, his picture. I want to move out of my home. I'm going back to school in two months but its as if I want permanent freedom, and now...I thought of all the people around here that seem to ignore me, and I use this as something against myself, a proof of what I really am. I need to go now. Take my dogs for a walk, think more and more of my dreams, and their hopelessness.

	2002.07.28  22.38 15 years ago, I: 1. sang and danced to Sing A Long Songs madly 2. took ballerina lessons 3. pulled tight stockings up my legs 4. looked out the front window 5. my parents were in the brown colored kitchen (maybe maybe) 10 years ago, I: 1. nine years old preparing for a move to Florida 2. felt very alone since my good friend Laurie had moved 3. made a summer trip to florida was that were dad lost 500 dollars? 4. It was decided that the reason I did so bad in school was my bad eye sight, thus I got brown leopard glasses (maybe I had just turned ten) 5. felt sadness all around me living in the new house, and moving 5 years ago, I: 1. spent most summer over the internet 2. made numerous mix tapes from the radio 3. decided I was a writer 4. was passionate about MST3K and alternative radio 5. discontent of living with my family, fights escalate 2 years ago, I: 1. started reading other people's poetry 2. began a strange friendship w/L 3. worked at the library 4. looked forward to my club I was starting at school 5. wore my gray hat all the time 1 year ago, I: 1. L and I are best friends 2. look forward to a life of art in college 3. drive around w/L a lot and dream together 4. wanted a boyfriend 5. was writing fervently, fueled by poetry class months before & relationship I gather Yesterday, I: 1. cried 2. screamed "I hate you" then slammed door 3. woke up at 3 pm 4. sat in bed and stared out window 5. walked dogs Today, I: 1. went to library 2. wrote a prose poem whilst making macaroni, then rewrote as a poem in bed 3. thoughta lot about P and L 4. looked at the fire left in the grill as the sky was dark 5. stared into the mirror Tomorrow, I will: 1. go to Olympia (I hope) 2. go to Coffee Messiah reading (maybe) 3. watch Amores Perros 4. think about P and L 5. get my car fixed early in the morning

	2002.07.26  01.39 I have a crush on you.

	2002.07.25  19.56 1. I need to call P to the fucking L , smoke away fans 2. I need to love so windows shut 3. Last night Saw Mission of Burma and Silkworm MoB's bodies leaped, shook, screamed into microphone, leather pants, synchracy and contradiction, man's back alcohol and sweat buried the guys from school, one whom sold me Tiger Trap record and described Joy Division perfect, was there stayed up until four again wrote whilst listening to Smog 9 days till Croatia bones in my fingers I want to love someone my shirt more unbuttoned then usual wants to stream out of me, windows do

	2002.07.20  15.06 I cannot go to Olympia tonight, but I want to. I will depart soon for the library, and find some movies I can watch for the week. I can't say what it is that follows me around as I walk or watch the clock. I have got to take a bus out of here for good. Seperate myself even further, change colors like blushing. He asked me to come over tonight, and should I forsake him I don't know if that word is appropriate except its in this song on the Anthology of American Folk Music and it has stayed with me, the way he says it with passion. I'm officially leaving August 6th, see! how I will fly over the ocean. I have read two texts that contain something about setting fire to one's own heart, one by the poet AI in a poem called "The Journalist" and the other from Jeanette Winterson's "The Passion" They both are for memory first off, to destroy that organ in one so it cannot feel and the other I don't remember I can't say.

	2002.07.18  02.23 Today I went to a few small peculiar towns which were not empty, but seemed it, these towns reside on the way to Wenatchee and are north of Seattle. The father we got the smaller the towns with the less chain businesses and less people. I'm not sure, we drove by most of them, but we stopped in one called Index and mom pulled over to a park beside the rode where my sister went to the bathroom and there were five or six swings I went to and swung, whilst a bunch of girls around the age of seven played behind me in the small park, their voices echoing wide, and there was at the corner of that park two fellows sitting on a log with very long beards and looking very odd and I was very interested in them, another guy was with them, a Black fellow who was standing away from them but at the same corner, it was so brief of a look but it seemed he was distancing himself from them. There was a tavern/restaurant in this town and on the roof was a man that looked like a miner with whiskers and overalls, that is he was as my brother said, "frozen". Not real. Everyone in this house is awake, no wait, not my dad, he is asleep. I don't know what to look forward to..Croatia in a few weeks, okay.

	2002.07.16  00.52 I'll update. I am a dipstick. There is that.. and my nights are spent alone, as are my days and there is headaches and my dream..right before I woke up there was something making me remember words that just came as if a tiny boat to the port in this same dream, I forgot most of the words, but it went, "Stand next to the tree, and let it slip over you" A voice telling me to write and I felt my hand holding a pen in my dream. You understand the obsessivness I have with having to write more concretly. I've also hated these past few days the very way I speak, the language I use. No one wants to talk to me because I have nothing to say, the language is boring. Tho many have told me this is not true. I had much pecan/raisin bread. Reading Frank O'Hara and in love and listening to that Little Wings record and Modern Lovers; my days. Going to Denny's even more frequently. Almost cried today with my coffee. I've watched Ghost World two times recently which upsets me, wouldn't I rather be watching something new and not comforting myself with this film? I want people to write letters to for hours and write poems for them, but I have no one except their visages. I am weird about being so blatant in this journal, I don't know why, really in my older entries I was far too obvious. So I stopped. Somehow I've felt I haven't been honest in my writing here, and in all my writing I have the same kind of feeling...

	2002.07.07  18.42 Erm, whomever reads this, and I am particularly interested in V to the R's comments, as I know he reads this, and he doesn't have to, but I want critique and questions, like anyone will respond, it would be great if V! did thought, even thought he's dead. We can only hope for a ressurection I guess. I am pulling at the roots of her hair in the sink. White like a plaque-ish scalp. So, I had a dream and I saw the house I could live in Composed of slants sh Arp tur ns boxes a long lawn. Your body, Tired Makes the wind sheets of ice calm their epileptic fit. There is a home for my road map Dress fits the tall head good natured, Lost in the sea. I press my finger to the end of my nose, oh now A red circle On my nose Improvisational oboe solos are shoelaces dangling. I listen to them waiting for my friends to come. To sojourn here; a faraway look; an Easter egg dropped on the cement Red paint Hands in your lap drifting in the lawn. You tongue your sweat Emits violence Like smoke off the brown roof, Emits contempt for your sweet legs. Oh dark rain my house Turn the corner quick step, step! a child is screaming stop running you Okayadmitokayretchidokay (He is a recluse Gently…) Then you grab the wrists of the gasoline dust paths leading to a blacker hill You want to live there No one lives there There Is abandoned/people-less I think Then “just nothing” you say You wait in the sleepy lobby for the oboe to come in Chiding to friends that surround you in piles Piles like ice cream Their in fright- "just nothing" A dump site you lay in is where we will Construct our love Razors piled high sitting with your back pressed sensually against/ with You’re crying for freedom ripped off window dead in both houses we -a smeared thumb- L I p s ti ckckckckck- The road turning off its lights from view its roaring train The blood cannot Hide. It is a blue Neon bui Lding. my finale friend, Plastic bucket filled With faucet water "Cherry lemonade" Grasshopper Blossoms. The poet Tells me Her Heavy Headed home Is Steady.

	2002.07.06  01.17 10:30 the 5th of July Nicky went to Auburn Denny's, wrote two pages and squinted at the highway beside her and the kids her age three booths down wanting.. 1:30 am the 5th left Auburn to Seattle, listened to Charm of the Highway Strip and jazz station went to Denny's on University Avenue, oh god this street at night nearly vacated completely save the many homeless folk, an internet cafe open at this time she is run over by the nights lawn mowing, and a wind hits her and the street and decides what must be done kind of in the ways of writing a novel but unlike in the vein she has been writing. if I could see just how lonely my life would be, if you passed me by and said 'farewell'

	2002.07.04  22.02 Tonight I'm all alone in my room, I'd go insane, if you don't, sleep with me I'd still be with you, be together on the astral plane Well I don't see you and its getting dark, we shoulda met in Central Park, well dont ya wanna see me again? I'll see you on the astral plane (That is from memory, lyrics are probably messed a bit) I barely know you but I love you and your hisses, a key in an apple.

	2002.07.03  19.24 I climb down the trees, their candies are hard. I wrote this morning as soon as I woke up, three full pages, and this pleases me, not completely..but as much as it can. Family asked me if I would like to see fireworks tonight. I would not. I need to throw myself into something else, but I don't know what, I never know what. Tommorow I will see him who is called Window-thin, why don't I just say his name? That would be so much of him, he is already spilling all over the floor. I imagine him touching my arm again as he had before. At the library today I got my Mercury Rev album and a book by bell hooks, and that makes me happy. My mom opened a book she wanted and said "Oh someone left toilet paper in here" How angry I feel towards my entire family. I want to go to California so much, it burns long in me. Or a beach of some kind, sink my feet in the wet gray sand and that gray sky lumpy clouds.

	2002.06.30  18.35 I am mean mean mean. To consider leaving his side to go to a poetry reading..I'll read more of the "The Rainbow" by D.H Lawrence and cook some kind of dinner tonight. That will lift some of the pain, maybe, no..

	2002.06.28  19.34 I could update this like any one cares. I'd go tonight to a show except I do not want to drive and have neither money or gas and I ache all over, 5 or 6 minutes ago I was laying in my bed feeling in another realm with so many records scattered around me and overwhelmed by the sadness and it felt good. It has been raining all day long, I roused to the shoosh of the rain and got lost in Kent for an hour listening to David Sedaris's "Me Talk Pretty One Day" on tape and feeling an infinite number of things, and pretty sure that this would be my day to die it was like my death in my dreams. I went to the Kent library and worked on my poems that will appear in "Future Present" by So Many Birds Publishing, and I love typing out the title of that chapbook company because it is so delicious. My nose dripped and I asked the librarian for a bunch of tissues, I meant a bushel. A mammoth amount. The guy sitting at the computer next to me never reacted when I blew my nose in the tissue only stared into the computer screen with his blue capped head. I went to the bathroom and blew my nose with toilet paper and a girl, young woman, came out of one of the stalls whilst I blew my nose. I am wearing a blue men's dress shirt with clear white buttons and the top button is unbuttoned currently but all of the day I was wearing it buttoned with my wild hair streaming out above it.

	2002.06.25  22.23 a week and a half ago I got a copy of Band of Outsiders for two dollars. I am hating myself and lonely. I spend many hours into the afternoon in bed dreaming of cold hands. Been driving around town turning applications in. I really want to work at denny's. Sunday night at the open mic and hours after spent with two guys, one frustrated writer pounding on the table and discussing our relationships with the audience and how we write and the changing smokieness around the moon like fog shifting. The frustrated writer wanted me and I wanted adventure. It was the kind of night where you hold onto love like this for this is what me and him want, pulling things out from under the bed. I scrubbed the floor today and listened to public radio and there was talk about the mideast peace plan and later I turned off the tv as footage of fighting and fire somewhere in a mideast street several figures running around in the street. I wonder if I could ever write as well as some particular poets, like the featured reader sunday or Diane di prima for instance. I'll just stop with this.

	2002.06.19  18.46 Scarecrow lights up the night I couldn't go to the Hugo House tonight oh this is terrible. I got pictures back today and there is one of a cat in the dawn with large glowing green eyes, one of him looking away clutching a cup and his shirt unbuttoned and the picture is blurred, smudged I search for his dark eyes and a few pictures taken in a wet alleyway inspired by John Cage's idea of taking pictures without looking throught the lens, her sitting on a cardboard box in front of a Hearse looking sad, a close up of my neck bent backwards a blob Today my family and I went to the park and I was in the tire swing, closed my eyes as my brother and sister pushed me.

	2002.06.18  22.17 I woke to the wind, and dark blue clouds and the kind of gray that lays in leaves and rain soaked patio wood, and the mosquitoes that land on your arms, as you fall deeper into the leaves that have raindrops clinging to their foreheads. I feel remarkebly not lonely for not seeing anyone for what seems like a long time but has only been a few days, this feeling is continuous and doesn't have an end, I contain solitude and the pain of not having a partner and I like to lay and feel this and not be so worriesome about not actually having someone to turn their backs to me as they walk towards their large green apartment door, I am there in the night of not knowing at all what awaits me. I think constantly of what I am going to do next, wanting to work on a shadow puppetry piece, revise my writing, or practice my cello, but nothing comes, and I have this feeling like I need someone to help me with these things, bah I have no muse, really I don't, no I do, hidden an awful lot, but when she does come its got me more eager to tip toe up the ancient steps. I am going to an open mic tommorow night at the Richard Hugo House and hopefully she'll sprout like an automatic lawn sprinkler. Oooh, Pete and Pete is on!!

	2002.06.14  14.00 So school's over with for the year, it starts again in fall when the cold winds come back and my brother and sister talk about their schools, my brother going to high school for the first year how did it come to be that he is the same place I was not too long ago and my sister in 7th reminding me constantly how we are going away from each other and each trying to deal with life, my brother is very reticent, my sister is depressed and angry at me and she may have to repeat the 6th grade, which is shit the way that school works is not for her but then I don't know I'm hardly around and I think of this summer and all the small trips I want to take and I'm not sure how I am going to do that and last night I was this dark cannonball, and I laid in my bed reading my book and trying not to try and smoothing out the crinkles in my skin and thinking about him again because we had grand times and I want more with him and others like taking my hand and pulling me to a train sweeping the state. I'll be leaving soon to great Olympia and that inferno will hold me for a few moments as I stand alone in my bedroom and I finish packing and then go to a graduation party and make eyes at the guys again.

	2002.06.11  05.16 I watched La Strada again; starting around 3:15 in the morning, my poem for the morning, I haven't written one, today has been the worst the past few days have been, and who knows how long I will sleep till today and not be doing my work the birds have begun, as days wear on they grow louder and louder and louder, and I feel a pain in my chest in recollection of the few days a go when I was drunk and watching his face all night and it hurt I remember the blue so well, my writing always sounds like this and I think the same things over and over, and I was going to say I am tired of it, but its more of I wonder why the same ideas repititively?

	2002.05.31  23.15 the beginnings of the night I watched a flurry of people today, around Olympia World News, 9-10:30 was the duration. There is a second level to OWN, on the first floor is a small space walls covered with local artists work from photography, and this one artist had a photo of an elderly woman then made another version by hand with stencil, paintings, poems on the wall, and paintings as in for instance my favoirte the large white shape predominating the space for it, looking like a woman/bull to me,in fact I wrote, behind a woman, a bull glaring at the skull beside her outline in chalk and residue she makes the patrons nervous So the first floor; there is a walkway that leads out onto the sidewalk that is 4th avenue. The mythological 4th avenue. Glass windows beside you covered in a few signs for beers, mostly local art events/shows that change every day. I look for signs like that in Auburn, if there are any they are very old or are for a float parade or raffling. However Auburn does have the casinos, no I'm kidding, there is the Old Time Auburn festival downtown, or something similiar to that name. I went there last year with my family and there was a stage set up with an okay jazz band w/ a female vocalist, maracchas, and in front of the stage where rows of benches where people were chewing on corn on the cob and burgers and assorted vendor treats. So, Olympia. Lining the walls are books on Enviorment and Women and Art, this lining begins after the comfy couch and is across from where you can get espresso. I sat above all this and watched the curious unfolding. A car alarm went off as a couple was led by one of the "couple" I only saw their feet and outside there are chairs and a beautiful woman stood up, her paper in hand. Two dogs barking outside filled the place with another low layer of noise, besides the talking nearby me at the bar and grill. A man sat not to far from me, under the white bull painting and leaned into the table he sat at alone, absorbed in his book. I went outside eventually, and watched and waited. A homeless man sat against a wall to my left, dressed up entirely in army clothes and played his harmonica. He had a rather large dog with a kitten huddled on top of the dog. I watched as people went by and he asked for money or didn't. After a bunch of teenage boys, one with a cell phone went by seeming to ignore his presence, he said loud enough that I heard.."young kids today" or something like that, I'm sorry I hadn't gotten all of it. Not too far from me, I think there was a drug dealer, I could imagine that but I have never dealt with a drug dealer so I don't know what it is like, and if he was for sure but he had a ponytail pulled back and he had on tight jeans and flannel shirt, standing by the curb. Thats enough for now, I guess.

	2002.05.29  23.09 "you know me, I don't want to...bother with people" My mother is familiarly like her daughter, what is that has made her not want to have friends? Whereas I pursue having friends, at least in fantasy. I don't talk to people. My middle finger is swelling up and if I hold it still it feels like its heart is beating fast as an cloud with its clogged waterways. I want to qoute this thing I'm reading by local Washington poet Charles Potts, "How structure operates, how it works and why it matters. Structure predicts output. Nothing sustainable will happen that is not supported by structure. Structure is the elaboration of belief expressed in language. I used the phrase, "how structure operates", which could also be an independant clause, because history is a branch of epistemology. The Open Range: The Empire of the United States is a constitutional plutocracy. It developed a system of laws based on a constitution designed to contribute political power in such a way that it would always be controlled by a determined minority of moneyed interests. Its democratic front is a masquerade for public relations purposes." Okay, that is enough for now. I have to work out more of my manifesto with history more consciously in mind, personal history and how that is with everyone else's history, going far back. There is a bean lodged under my skin next to my fingernail. Today I woke up from a sleep consisting of wanting to throw up, and read from "The Artists Way" which manages to motivate me to go on, which surprises me and makes me kind of snicker. And I have been able to go on, despite all the sadness. My dad had a minor heart attack. I talked to him about two hours ago and sadness was found in my mother's voice, as she seemed more wanting to talk to me then usual, at least really wanted to talk to me. Let me sleep again, please. Mood: slow in sunlight walk day Music: Kraftwerk on kaos radio

	2002.05.27  14.15 My heart has been broken like so many broken chimes on the porch, in the backyard, amongst the curled up fingers of dead leaves and the wind sweeps the pieces further and further into the earth as days linger on in boredom of time, and sleeps, all its eyes clasped to his memory. I was correct in predicting the pain. My intuition is that silver knife beside the piano key this morning, and I knew all along really. I must say, I am proud of myself for leaving him alone, and mostly, I don't care. The worst part of all of it is I let down two people for my own selfishness, at least they cared about me more then he did and I neglected. I will not think of him, that is what I will do.

	2002.05.26  18.53 I am working on a resume for all the following jobs I will apply to, and I despise it. I've applied to about 15 jobs before and none accepted me so I am very bitter about the whole thing. Its not like I'm poor and need the job, even thought I do need it, but its not to the gallows if I don't. I have been alone in this house for hours, I nearly fell asleep earlier and the part on the closet door I wrote all over with images from a dream was becoming vivid to me, in that in one of my letters I saw the sad walk of a man down the street, his shoes tapping against the rocks and cement. I thought of shadows. I made myself a cup of soup that is prepared in eight minutes according to the label, the tap water was hot and I drew the water in to the dried tex-mex black bean mess. I read more Artaud, but not enough. Mirah and the Microphones and The Blow are playing tonight in Olympia, except I guess I'm not going. I should, now that I think about it, it is too delicious to miss, however I may miss my floundering person's kiss, but that means in itself trouble, as to avoid pain. I tend to do that, anything to avoid the pain of relationships, maybe that is why my dad is the way he is, his motive. I believe those are mine. I remembered today an art class I took in elementary school, I've had brief glances of it for years and felt the ash of its leftoverness, but could never name exactly what happened, I only have one brief..in movie terms, shot, a one second shot of brightness outside the low windows and quiet as the teacher spoke, and the light on the desks and along the panel under the windows, today I remembered it was in this same class we may have done those exercises of doing what Matisse did, with construction paper cut outs as the teacher equivocated. After the move things become very clear in my mind, I remember them very well, like my third grade art teacher, who was black and for some reason I get the feeling there was something about the fact that she was that made me..I'm not sure, but then before I moved to Florida, everyone was white and yellow haired. A bit of culture shock on my part. Difference came to me in the pre-Florida days as the single Jewish boy who sat offstage for the entire Christmas pageant in school, along with my mother wondering why we had a Hanukkah song in the repertoire and non-Christian Christmas songs. As this was the same concert, maybe I am wrong about that boy not participating, but I remember there was something about him that someone had pointed out and made him seperate. I hid in the bathroom while my mom expressed anger over the choice of songs, I hated it. Likewise, I hid all kinds of things from her.

	2002.05.22  02.31 I went to set my alarm to 8:40 am and I remembered the last morning, getting up to turn the alarm off and hearing two male disc jockeys saying something to the effect of, 1. "And big, big breasts!" 2. .."stretched out nipples, erect.." 1. "Thats what I want, haha" It was something like that, but I remember when they were saying the bit about the nipples it was utterly obnoxious and annoying, actually the whole thing is annoying..it was something about nipples being somewhere their not usually and visible. This kind of discussion of the female body seems to be so ubiquitous, the evaluation of the body from far away seems to be the kind of stance the media culture takes on. As I have no evidence for this and am only going on a strong feeling that this is very familiar, well I have a little history behind me, there seems to be this place of evaluation and criticism and looking at the body and talking publicly about whether it is worthy of sexuality seems to be what "things" are like. My desire to to be an academic runs strong. I want to use historical evidence, and I feel I may have some, but I don't..I feel like I've studied enough media, but not studied in the context that I'll write a paper about it kind of thing. But things like camera angles and how images are made and how "we" discuss them, I mean the media culture more of, is really important. The camera makes now for the selling of a product, a punchline for a film, what do these images convey? I'm not asking anything particularly new here, I ultimately want to find something of my own, make my own theory.